


Unshielded

by roane



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protectiveness, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When he finally was able to put Steve down on a bed in the infirmary, the stolen hotel blankets fell away from Steve's body. Sam barely managed to hold back a gasp. There was no muscle definition to speak of anymore."</p><p>HYDRA is still wreaking havoc, SHIELD is still in tatters, Bucky is still in the wind, and now Steve can barely so much as lift his iconic shield. And if that weren't enough of a mess, he and Sam are starting to realize that what they feel for each other goes way beyond just friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unshielded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IndigoNight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/gifts).



> Thanks as always to wintergrey for the handholding and beta work. And thanks to IndigoNight for reminding me that I really really wanted to write preserum-Steve and Sam. :)

Sam had a new level of sympathy for Bucky Barnes. How often, he wondered, had Bucky followed Steve into a stupidly dangerous situation thinking, _Steve, no wait, don't—goddamn it, Steve, will you just—_

If he was a betting man, he'd bet most of his nest egg it happened at least twice a week. That was the average rate for Sam right now. This raid might up the average to three times a week. If HYDRA didn't kill him, the ulcer he was developing might. 

All of their intel said this location was one of a handful of research and development labs geared towards biologic and chemical warfare, but was Mr. Super-Soldier wearing a hazmat suit or so much as a mask? No. Like it didn't even occur to him that one of HYDRA's biggest objectives might be to come up with a weapon they could use against _him_. 

The place was thinly guarded, which should have been a warning. The lab was nearly empty, dust smudges and blank spaces showing where equipment and files had once been. This was a dead end.

Almost. Steve missed it, looking in the other direction, and Sam was too late yelling his warning. The cupboard Steve was standing in front of slid open just at calf height, and someone in a white coat, crouching inside, reached out and slammed something into Steve's leg—a hypodermic? Steve yelped and Sam rushed forward to haul the person out of the cupboard. He was a little guy in glasses—had to be little, to hide in a cupboard, what the _hell_. Before Sam had a chance to say a word, the guy crunched down on something and started foaming at the mouth. Sam dropped him, knowing he'd be dead before he hit the ground. "Steve, you okay?"

Steve winced and pulled the needle—it was a hypo, all right—out of his calf muscle. "Yeah, I'm fine—for now." He held up the needle. The plunger was all the way down. "Whatever was in there, he got me with all of it."

"Shit. I _told_ you, man—"

"The suit wouldn't have helped," Steve said, waving at Sam's cleansuit. "My suit didn't stop it, that sure as hell wouldn't have."

"We gotta get you out of here, find out what they dosed you with." Sam stepped forward, ready to help Steve if necessary.

"I really feel fine," Steve said, shaking him off. "Any sort of bug my immune system will take care of. We should finish clearing the base." 

"At least keep the syringe. The docs might be able to figure out what was in it."

Steve conceded that much. He rummaged in one of the cupboards and quickly came up a cap for the needle, and tucked it into a utility pocket. When Sam didn't move, he gave Sam the grin that Sam had started to hate for the way it made his pulse race. "Wilson, come on. Don't back out on me now."

 _As if I would_ , Sam thought, and followed Steve deeper into the base. 

#

Steve felt fine all the way back to the motel. It was a halfway decent one this time, with beds that were just on the right side of uncomfortable. Stretching out on his sounded like just the thing to do right now.

Sam had other ideas. As soon as the door was closed, he handed Steve his phone. "Call in."

"What?"

Sam was wearing his "don't argue with me, soldier" face. It was an effective face, even if it did always give him a little shiver. "Call Hill, let her know what happened."

Steve sighed and took the phone. Sam was making a fuss, and Hill was going to make a fuss, over nothing. He leaned against the dresser and made the call.

And got an order to come back in immediately. Damn it, there was too much else left for them to do. He and Sam still had three or four other potential HYDRA bases to check out, and the odds were getting better and better that they were going to find traces of Bucky in one of them.

"I'm _fine_ ," he insisted to her. "Come on, it'll take us hours to get back there. I can send back the syringe—"

"Captain Rogers, have you maybe forgotten what a direct order sounds like? I mean, I know you don't hear them often."

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm arranging for your extraction now. Don't do anything stupid before it gets there. I'm calling a full abort."

"Yes ma'am," he said again, not meeting Sam's eyes. "We'll be waiting." He snapped the phone closed with a little more force than was necessary. Only then did he glance at Sam, who was watching him with worry in his dark eyes. "She's sending a chopper. We're aborting the rest of the mission."

"You sure you feel okay?" 

"Why do you keep asking?" Steve snapped, then immediately felt a little guilty. He was a little tired, maybe. That was unusual but not unheard of; even super soldiers needed rest sometimes.

"I dunno, man. You just look... not okay." Sam shrugged and started packing up his gear. "What's the ETA on our ride?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"Okay, so why don't you lie down until then? Just humor me." Sam smiled, and Steve didn't think he knew how to say no to that smile. "You can laugh at me later, I promise."

"I don't actually need your permission for that," Steve muttered, but he flopped onto his bed.

It did feel good, better than he remembered. It was really hot in the room though. He should ask Sam to turn on the air conditioner...

That was his last thought before Sam was shaking him by the shoulder. "Damn," Sam said. He shook harder. "Steve, wake up."

"Lemme alone," Steve grumbled. He felt sticky and sweaty, and he _hurt_ , like Bruce had Hulked out and thrown him around a few times. He was already going back to sleep when Sam prodded at him again.

"Come on, open up." He tried to put something in Steve's mouth. "Under your tongue, just like when you were a kid."

Steve gave him a half-hearted swipe, but opened his mouth for the thermometer.

"You're burning up, man." Sam pressed his hand against Steve's forehead and it was blissfully cool. When Sam took his hand away, he wanted to whimper.

"Cap's sick," Sam said, and it took Steve a moment to realize he was on the phone. "Running a fever, looks like hell."

Oh. That would explain why he felt so hot.

"I'm fine," Sam said, "but I didn't get jabbed with the stuff."

Steve drifted, vaguely aware of Sam taking the thermometer from his mouth at one point and cursing. The bed was just right, how'd he miss that this bed was so comfortable? Sam put something bitter in his mouth and made him drink some water, then started pulling off Steve's boots. 

"What're you doin'?" he asked, or tried to.

"You gotta take a bath, okay? Can you sit up?" He put an arm behind Steve's shoulders and tried to make him sit up. That was nice, except for having to move.

"S'not Saturday," Steve said. "No bath." He laid his head over on Sam's shoulder, and that was _really_ nice. Sam smelled nice. And he felt cool.

Sam laughed a little, and kept trying to make him get up.

"Don't wanna," Steve muttered. Something occurred to him. "I think there was somethin' in that hypo. Don't feel good." He tried to lie back down, but Sam didn't let him.

Sam laughed for real, but it didn't sound right. "Yeah, man. I think there was. Come on, work with me here." He started pulling at Steve's shirt. That was new. Steve wished he felt a little better, because he might appreciate it more.

"Okay, on your feet, soldier," Sam said, moving around in front and getting Steve under the arms. Steve staggered to his feet, barely. Why was Sam making him stand up?

"Steve? Can you stand up straight for me?" There was something weird in Sam's voice that burrowed through the fever fog of Steve's brain. "Come on, you're not even trying."

Steve lifted his head, then frowned. "You got bigger."

"I don't think so, man." Sam looked _down_ at him. "How tall are you?"

"Six feet, two inches," Steve said, trying to clear his head. This was wrong. "You're not, though."

"Almost am," Sam said, standing up straight. Steve mirrored him, and came up to his forehead, barely.

"I'm shrinking?" Steve took a breath to say more, and started coughing. It was a hard, low, painful cough that rattled his chest and brought back memories of nights spent with a flannel on his chest and his mother sitting worriedly at his bedside.

Something was very very wrong.

"We gotta get that fever down," Sam said, bundling him towards the bathroom. "Let the SHIELD docs worry about the rest."

#

Nobody gave their ride notification about quarantine protocols. Sam was trying to help Steve out of the bath—it hadn't done a damn bit of good, he was still burning up—when there was a pounding on the motel room door. At least, he hoped that was their ride. If it was HYDRA choosing to show up, well, they were fucked.

He lowered Steve carefully to the cool tile floor and covered him with a towel. Steve was moving in and out of consciousness, and his breathing had taken on a terrifying rasp. Unless Sam was crazy—which he wouldn't rule out—Steve was also feeling about twenty pounds lighter than when he went into the bath.

Pounding at the door again. Sam barely resisted the urge to yell something, just in case it _was_ HYDRA. He grabbed his gun and strapped it on, creeping to the door and looking through the peephole. A pissed-off looking Asian woman stood outside, hand raised to knock again. "Come on," she said, "I can hear you on the other side. Hill sent me."

Anyone could say that, of course, but Sam swung open the door carefully anyway. "You Wilson?" she said, stepping past him without a hesitation. "Melinda May. We were closest, so Hill called us. Chopper's running, we gotta go." Sam looked past her to see that in fact, the chopper _was_ running, in the motel parking lot.

"You better wrap him in blankets," May said. She threw Steve's uniform into a bag and picked up the bag that Sam had already packed like it weighed nothing. "Can you carry him?"

"I can manage." He could, and it was way easier than it ought to have been. Sam bundled up Steve and carried him out to the chopper like he was gonna carry him across a honeymoon threshold. 

"Put me down, I can walk," Steve grumbled.

"Did you forget the part where you're naked under this blanket? Just hang on," Sam said. He strapped Steve into a seat and climbed up front with May. "Where we going?"

"SHIELD still has a base not far from here. Sorry in advance for the security."

"Sorry—" Sam started to say, then grabbed the doorframe when the chopper took off with a familiar swoop that left his stomach behind.

#

The base, according to the odd little man who greeted them at the door, was called The Playground. Then he started saying something about lanyards and Sam tuned him out and followed May. Steve was lighter than he'd been when Sam put him in the chopper, he'd absolutely swear to it.

When he finally was able to put Steve down on a bed in the infirmary, the stolen hotel blankets fell away from Steve's body. Sam barely managed to hold back a gasp. There was no muscle definition to speak of anymore. 

"That's Captain America?" A woman's crisp British voice came from behind Sam, and he turned around to see a pretty girl in a lab coat, her brown hair in a ponytail. "He's bigger on the telly. And also... usually in uniform," she added, her cheeks turning pink. "Sorry, sorry. I'm Jemma Simmons. You're Sam, right? Agent Hill told me what happened."

Steve was completely unconscious, so Sam drew the blanket back over him. "You the doctor?" 

She made a face. "Well, no." She came around the bed and started pulling down wires and attachments, hooking Steve up to monitors of all sorts. It tightened up Sam's chest. He looked vulnerable, worse than he had in the hospital after the helicarriers went down. He looked frail. "I hear you've got a sample of what they gave him?" Simmons was asking.

"What? Yeah. It's in his uniform..." He trailed off, looking around for May, but she was gone. Their bags were sitting by the door. He rummaged through the lighter of the two, and found the pocket with the empty hypo. "Listen, his fever was 106, his brain is cooking. We need to bring it down."

It turned out Sam knew his way around an infirmary better than she did. He found cold packs and a cooling pad to put under Steve, who made a petulant whining sound. "Cold." At least he wasn't unresponsive.

"I know it is," Sam murmured, brushing Steve's hair back from his forehead. It was odd, how those gestures came back to him. Steve wasn't bleeding, wasn't injured, wasn't covered in gunsmoke and sand, but he was still alone with his discomfort, so Sam needed to be there for him. "We're gonna make you feel better." He watched the temperature monitor, his chest loosening to see the numbers start to go down. 

When Steve relaxed into what looked more like sleep than unconsciousness, Sam went over to Simmons, who was bent over a microscope. "I'm not trying to be rude," he said, trying not to grit his teeth around desperate worry, "but why is Steve here if there's no doctor?"

"Because there's me," she said without looking up. 

"Excuse me?"

"This isn't a virus." She gestured towards the microscope, and Sam shrugged; he wouldn't know what he was looking for. "Or any type of bacteria. I don't think he's actually sick."

Steve started twitching on the infirmary bed, his arms and legs starting to convulse. Alarms sounded. Sam glared at Simmons before running to turn him over onto his side. "What the hell is this then?" He knew, though. Steve's fever was still too high, a seizure was the next worry. There was nothing he could do but keep Steve from hurting himself until it ended. 

Simmons followed him over. "It's nothing infectious, though," she insisted. "I need to look more to be sure, but there appears to be a genetic component."

Steve's body stilled, too small, much too small. He was getting smaller every time Sam looked at him. His face was almost like a child's. "What does that mean, why is he shrinking?"

"I'm not certain, but I think HYDRA found a way to reverse the original super-soldier serum." She met his eyes over Steve's small, quiet form. "I've only seen pictures, of course, but I think we're seeing Captain Rogers was he was over seventy years ago."

#

Steve sat up in the infirmary bed, and seeing him was the most surreal thing Sam had known. It was one thing to hear stories about five-foot-four, ninety pound Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, it was another thing to see the painfully thin arms, the slightly concave chest—and worse, to hear the asthmatic rattle of his breathing. Sam wanted nothing more than to hide him away somewhere to keep him safe. 

They were joined in the infirmary by Simmons and three other agents: May, of course, a junior agent improbably named Skye, and another black man, Triplett. Something weird was going on, and Sam couldn't put his finger on it. There was no chain of command that he could see. May and Triplett seemed to be equals; so who the hell was in charge? Sam was shocked at how fast unit discipline had fallen apart in SHIELD's remaining ranks.

"So this is permanent?" Steve was asking.

"I can't find any trace of the original serum-enhanced DNA in your system," Simmons said, "so I think it's as permanent as you are."

"So not that permanent," Steve said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

"There's got to be something we can do." Sam fought the urge to rest a hand on Steve's shoulder as he stood by the bed. He had no claim on Steve, but just then he wished he did. The others looked at Steve like he was a problem to be solved, and Sam wanted the authority to tell them to stop.

"There's something else," Simmons said, dragging her finger over her data pad. "Captain Rogers, I looked at your medical records after you woke up, and SHIELD vaccinated you for all known modern diseases—purely as a precaution, since no one thought your enhanced immune system would fail."

"That's good, though, right?" Sam said. It hadn't even occurred to him before, the nightmare that would be, all of the vaccines developed since 1945 that Steve would be missing.

"The blood tests I ran show no sign of any of the antibodies I'd expect to see in a vaccinated person," she said. "It's as if he never received the shots at all."

"Everybody back the fuck up," Sam said, doing so himself. "Do you have any kind of clean room facilities at all in this place? We've got to eliminate the risk of exposure to—"

"Sam. _Sam_." Steve caught him by the arm, barely a noticeable tug on his sleeve. "Would you relax? We're in an underground bunker, I'm not about to go on a cross-country bus trip, and it's not like I'm any more at risk of getting sick than I was back then."

"But—"

Steve squeezed his arm and gave him a lopsided grin. It was the same grin, and Sam's stomach made the same flips it always did. "Stop it, already."

"Do y'all need a few minutes?" Agent Triplett had a flash of a smile that he tried to hide. "If y'all need to talk—"

"No," Sam said, fast. "We're good." He glanced at Steve, who drew away his hand from Sam's arm. "Right?"

"Yeah, we're good," Steve said then started coughing.

"Okay, that's the first thing we need right there," Sam said. "Maybe you're right and he doesn't have some weird HYDRA virus, but he _does_ need a doctor. I can patch up a bullet hole, but that's about it." He stared them all down, waiting for someone to respond.

May jerked her chin in a nod. "I'll see if we can find someone." She pulled up from the counter she was leaning against. "I'll let Hill know. Trip, can you go calm Billy down? Tell him we're pretty sure Captain America isn't HYDRA. Skye, you and Simmons go see what you can find out about this anti-serum and the original serum." She looked at Steve and Sam, as serene and unreadable as she'd been all along. "You better get some rest. There are rooms down the left corridor."

"Does that mean I get unhooked from the machines here?" Steve held up his arms, both covered in wires. Sam wanted to protest, but aside from being the smaller, weaker, frailer man he'd been a lifetime ago, even Sam had to admit Steve seemed okay for now. Simmons stepped over and helped, and between the three of them, they set him free. "And, uh," Steve glanced down at his chest, ears turning pink, "I don't think my old uniform is gonna fit."

"I'll get Billy to give us something," Triplett said, and ducked out. The others, with their marching orders, followed suit.

#

Steve flopped back against the bed, looking tired. He was swimming in the pants and t-shirt Billy had managed to find, but they were the smallest things in the base. "You can say it."

"Say what?" Sam hauled over a chair and sat down.

"'I told you so.'"

"Nah, man." Sam tried to smile at him. "Now if you'd gotten yourself infected with some sort of HYDRA super-flu, you better believe I'd be laughing my ass off at you right now." The smile faded before he was ready for it to. "You doing okay, though?"

"I'd forgotten how much this sucks, to be honest," Steve admitted. "Everything hurts. I forgot about that."

Sam was halfway to his feet to rummage through the medical supplies, before he thought to ask, "Do you need something for it?"

"Sit down," Steve said, and he still sounded every bit a captain. "No, it's not something to fix, it just is." He fetched up a sigh from somewhere down deep. "Damn it. I'm sorry, Sam. Last thing we needed was for me to get sidelined right now."

"Time for somebody else to step up," Sam said. Steve's face was old and young; he looked like a kid but there were drawn lines around his eyes, the expression of someone who went hand in hand with suffering every day. It hurt Sam to see it, in ways he couldn't articulate even to himself. "These lazy bums, sitting around in a cushy private base, man, we'll send them out on the road for a while."

"You'll need to go with them," Steve said. "I don't know what's going on, but they need a leader."

"You got that too, huh?" Sam sat down on the edge of Steve's bed. "Nah, that's not me. I need to stay here and keep an eye on you. Agent Simmons may know her way around a microscope, but she doesn't know her way around a body worth a damn."

"Oh, and you do?" The crooked grin was one-hundred percent Steven Smartass Rogers. "Is that how you pick up dates, by showing off your knowledge?"

"No, I usually just collapse under the nearest tree and wait to see if they investigate." It came out before he stopped to think about it.

Steve nodded sagely, but the tip of his ears were pink. "Well. It's one way to find out what they know about a body, I suppose."

"Doesn't always work," Sam said, then shut up.

After a minute, Steve said, "I need you to go with them. You have to take them back to where that bastard got me. Take Simmons, whoever else you need. We need to get her in that lab."

It wasn't even a decision, then. If Steve said he needed for Sam to go, then Sam was going to go.

#

Steve was at the small table in his room, going through everything the SHIELD archives had on Erskine's original serum—or at least, everything they were able to get their hands on, given the state of things. Sam and Agent May had only been gone for a few hours. May vetoed Simmons going, saying it was too dangerous. It was too soon to expect to hear from them.

Sending him away had been one of the hardest things Steve had had to do since waking up in this modern world. It was stupid, how much he'd come to rely on Sam. The look on Sam's face whenever he looked at Steve now, seeing him without the serum—and part of him would always consider this body the 'real' Steve—hurt more than he'd expected. It was better if Sam was out in the world, doing what needed to be done. Steve didn't need the reminder that he was inadequate.

"You doing all right, man?" Trip stuck his head around Steve's half-opened door, knocking as he spoke. With Sam gone, Trip had appointed himself Steve's keeper--which baffled Steve until he found out who Trip's grandfather was.

"Yeah, I'm good," Steve said, not looking up. "Little sore." He'd gotten his first round of re-vaccinations, and had the bruises to prove it. His head was pounding and his chest was too tight, but that was an old familiar state of affairs—he'd just forgotten about it for a while. 

"You sure?" Trip had a covered plate in his hand, and brought it over, laying it by Steve's elbow. "You missed out on lunch. That must be some damn fine reading there."

"Nothing useful yet. I suppose it was too much to ask for to find the whole formula written out plain as day somewhere." Steve wasn't hungry, but he recognized a caretaker in Trip, and knew if he didn't at least take a few bites, Trip would hover over him endlessly. There was a sandwich on the plate, and some fruit. The sandwich was made with something he still couldn't quite parse as 'bread': white and squishy and tasteless. It stuck in his teeth, but the ham tasted good, with some sharp mustard that reminded him of the deli around the corner from his mother's apartment. 

"Jemma's been looking through your older DNA samples, seeing if she can recreate anything." He sat down across from Steve. "If anybody can, it's her."

There was maybe something more than collegial respect in his words. "She's that good?"

He grinned. "Yeah, man. If Wilson and May can't find anything at the base, she'll figure it out." Then he sobered. "You're lucky though. Wilson would walk through fire for you. He's a good man."

"He is," Steve agreed, wholeheartedly. One of the best he'd ever known. And one of the kindest. And— _stop it, Rogers. You're acting like a kid._

"My granddad always said he thought it was a damned shame that you and Sergeant Barnes couldn't be upfront about things back then. I'm glad it's a little better now."

It took a minute for Trip's meaning to sink in. "What? No, Sam and I—it's not like that." 

"You're not?" Trip's eyebrows went up. "I'm sorry, man. I just assumed—yeah, sorry."

"No, it's fine. How's your granddad doing, anyway?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"He's great, feisty as hell. You should have seen him when he found out you were still alive. I thought he was going to break a hip trying to dance around the living room." 

It was no surprise the other Howling Commandos had known about him and Bucky. They lived and fought in close quarters for months. Bucky. Steve's chest tightened further. Bucky was still out there, maybe hurt and lost and hunted. The years between them were too probably great for them to get back to where they'd been, but before he'd been anything else, Bucky had been his closest friend. And would be again, if Steve had anything to say about it.

Except right now there wasn't anything he could do. He was utterly useless.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"You sure you're all right?"

 _I'm great_ , he wanted to say. _Everyone I love is in danger, and I'm the size and strength of a weak twelve-year-old boy. I can't breathe, and list of things that could kill me right now is longer than your arm. But no, I'm doing fantastic._ Trip didn't deserve that. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry again—about what I said about you and Sam." He laughed a little bit. "I'm usually better at reading that sort of thing. Just, watching you two together, man. Well. It's not my business, but I think he's got it pretty bad." Trip's eyes twinkled at him, and Steve was reminded so much of Gabe it hurt. For them it had been decades; for him it had been weeks. "Should have known Captain America would be a heartbreaker, I grew up hearing the stories."

Steve had to laugh at that, feeling his cheeks get hot. "Don't believe everything your granddad told you. Besides, I'm not precisely in heartbreaking form at the moment." _He's wrong about Sam. Don't get your hopes up._

#

Sam was damned lucky. Lucky Agent May was as capable as she was, and even more lucky that the HYDRA team waiting to ambush them coming out of the defunct base shouldn't shoot for shit. 

As they both took cover and started firing, Sam said to May, "I thought SHIELD training was supposed to be awesome. Where'd they send you guys for training, Stormtrooper Academy?" Another bullet whizzed harmlessly overhead.

To answer his question, May calmly took out three of their attackers in quick succession and gave him a look.

"Yeah all right, so it's just them then." 

Aw, _shit_. One of their attackers had gotten smart and pulled out a rocket launcher. Even with their rotten aim, they'd get close. Close counted in rocket launchers. "May!"

"I see it." She grabbed him by the front of his vest and pulled him out of cover, then they hauled ass through the woods to the chopper. 

They were doing fine until some bastard got lucky and Sam felt something stitch through his hair with a burning sting. "Shit!" He ducked, and zigzagged harder. 

By the time they got to the chopper, he could feel the blood running down the side of his head and neck. He was still on his feet though, so it had to be a scalp wound.

May fired up the rotors then glanced back at him. "You're bleeding," she said in the same tone that someone else would say, "It's raining."

"Yeah, I know, get us out of here and I'll take care of it." He held on as she took off, and once they were out of firing distance, reached for the medkit.

Steve was waiting on the helipad when they landed, his brow creased into a frown. Seeing him like this was still so eerie, like seeing double. That was absolutely Steve's face, even though it was narrower and smaller. He might take up less space physically, but the presence was exactly the same. He stood like someone who had no idea how vulnerable he was: back straight, head up, arms loose at his side like he was waiting for a fight. 

The same exasperated protectiveness that drove him to follow Steve Rogers wherever he needed to go was doubled, tripled, at seeing Steve still ready to throw himself into the nearest danger even without the carefully constructed shield of science and muscle that had turned him into Captain America. 

And Sam still had an overwhelming urge to kiss him senseless.

He didn't miss the way Steve's eyes tracked to the bandage on his head, or the subsequent narrowing of his eyes. Sam braced for impact.

Steve barely waited until Sam and May were safely past the slowing helicopter rotors before he charged forward. "What the hell happened? May, you didn't say he was injured!"

"I'm fine," Sam tried to say. "It was just a graze."

Steve grabbed him by the arm and started pulling. In truth, he couldn't have moved Sam at all if Sam hadn't let him. But Sam let him, and followed him into the base. 

Steve didn't stop at the infirmary, but dragged Sam back to his quarters. "Sit down," he ordered as soon as he closed the door.

Sam sat. "But, the debriefing—"

"Shut up." Steve pulled his own medkit out and brought it over to the table.

"You know, I actually am a trained medic and I—"

"I said shut up."

Sam closed his mouth meekly. He winced as Steve pulled the bandage away, tugging at the dried blood in his hair. 

"I shouldn't have sent you," Steve said, using a washcloth to wash away the last of the mess. The cool water felt good against his scalp, except where it stung the exposed bullet graze.

"I'm fine, see, it's just a wide scratch."

"Still." Steve stopped what he was doing to look Sam in the eye. In this position, he was only a little bit taller. No matter the height, those eyes absolutely killed Sam every time, deep and blue and sincere. "If I'd lost you..." He leaned down suddenly and kissed Sam hard. Before Sam even had a chance to respond, he pulled away. "Damn it, I'm sorry—"

Sam didn't let him finish. He caught Steve by his arm and carefully pulled him back in. He should talk—they should talk, but later. Steve leaned down and kissed him again, bringing his hands up to cup Sam's face. His mouth was soft and hot, careful only at first before teasing Sam's mouth open with his tongue. Sam pulled him down into his lap, wrapping his arms around him to keep him there. Tracing his fingers over the knobs of his spine was like counting his way through his grandmama's old rosary beads, foreign but comforting.

Finally Steve came up for air, and rested his forehead against Sam's. Sam could hold him there forever, just listening to him breathe. Without pulling away, Steve said, "I'm sorry, this is probably the wrong time—"

"If you say you're sorry one more time, I'm going to think you didn't really want to kiss me," Sam said, and reluctantly tilted his head back enough to see Steve's face. 

"But the timing is bad, and I didn't even know if you, well, if you—"

"I am, and I do," Sam said, answering "are you?" and "do you?" at once. "I get that it's bad. If you want to get up and forget this happened, no harm no foul, okay?" He cost him to say that, but Steve wasn't wrong. The timing was awful. Steve didn't talk about it, but he had a pretty good idea that Bucky had been more than a close childhood friend. "But if you want to stay... then stay."

Sam felt Steve's ribs expand with a deep breath, felt it catch deep down. At this size, the intimacy and intensity of holding a body—feeling bones and muscles and movement—was frightening, overwhelming, like holding a bird in his hands. Sam's cheeks flared hot. He wanted to hold onto Steve in this vulnerable, weakened body and protect him, yes, but he also wanted pin him to a bed, cover this body with his own. He wanted this body because it was still Steve. He tried to get his thoughts under control before Steve could notice.

"I do want to stay," Steve said, his breath moist against Sam's cheek. "But I can't—I can't make any promises." He laughed, and the sound was more bitter than not. "Look at me, I can't even promise who I'll be a week from now."

"You planning to be anybody other than Steve Rogers any time soon?" 

"No, but—"

"That's all I need to know." Sam pressed his forehead to Steve's again. 

Steve kissed him again, maybe with a little less heat this time, but still slow and sweet and easy. Sam closed his eyes and pulled down all of his focus to this moment, right here and now, how it felt to touch and to hold, how it made him feel. Warmth flooded him that had nothing to do with lust or need; it was stronger and scarier than both of them. Steve stopped kissing him and wrapped his thin arms around Sam's neck, pressing his cheek to Sam's.

"All right," Sam murmured. "I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere. And that bed isn't going anywhere." Despite himself, he was gratified to feel Steve shiver at the word 'bed'. 

"It better not," Steve said. "I have a few things in mind for it." He kissed Sam on the neck, below his ear. "Just... not now."

"Not now," Sam agreed. With surprisingly little reluctance, he helped Steve out of his lap, and Steve finished re-bandaging his wound.

When he was finished, he took Sam's hand and tugged him until Sam stood up. Steve didn't let go of his hand. "Come on. We really should get you to that debriefing."

#

No one commented when Steve and Sam held hands through the briefing, although Steve thought he saw Trip look a little bit smug. Sam and Agent May hadn't found much of anything useful in the lab, but Jemma had potentially better news.

"I've been comparing Captain Rogers' current tissue samples with the samples SHIELD has taken at regular examinations. By studying the differences, it's just possible I can reverse engineer a new version of the serum."

"But wouldn't SHIELD have been trying that all along?" Skye asked. "No offense, but if it were that simple—"

"Most of the original super soldier project records were lost sometime in the Fifties," May said. "Some of the files survived, but the blood and tissue samples, both before and after—gone."

Jemma nodded. "Exactly. And of course, any type of gene sequencing was unknown back then, much less metabolomic analysis via non-ribosomal RNA sequencing, which is what I'm doing here."

Trip cleared his throat. "English."

Jemma gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. In a way, this is the best thing that could have happened for the super soldier project: a return of the original test subject to his control state."

"Yeah, it's great, all right," murmured Steve, and Sam elbowed him.

"Sorry," Jemma said again, her cheeks going pink. 

"It's fine," Steve said. "So you think you can do it? How long?"

"A few months, maybe?"

Steve's heart sank. "Well, it's better than a few years," he said. "Or 'never'." What was he going to do, cooped up here that long? 

"Well..." Jemma fidgeted with her papers. "There might be one way to make it go a little bit faster."

"Don't hold out on us then, what is it?" Sam leaned forward in his seat, his hand resting in the small of Steve's back. Steve could feel tension coming off him, like he was just waiting for someone to give him a quest.

"If we had a second sample of serum-augmented DNA," Jemma said. "That would give me another point of comparison. And if we had a second control, it would help even more."

Steve exchanged a look with Sam, and sighed. "Bucky."

"All the evidence suggests that Sergent Barnes was similarly augmented," Jemma said apologetically. "We have some of the records from Dr. Zola about the initial augmentation when Barnes was a POW, but nothing about anything further. I'm sure I can do it without it, it would just be easier."

"Then we'll find him," Sam said.

#

Three days later they got the word that someone fitting Bucky's description was spotted outside of Spokane, Washington. As May and Trip were getting their gear together, Steve called Sam aside. "Come with me," he said, so Sam followed him.

They wound up in Steve's room again, and Sam felt a nervous twinge in his gut. Since that first kiss, they'd spent some time alone, but it was all very cautious. They'd kissed, and snuggled. There was one glorious moment where Steve slipped his fingers up the back of Sam's shirt, but otherwise it was like being fifteen again, and trying to figure out the boundaries and limits. It was fine. It was more than fine, it was exhilarating in a way, to never know what was going to happen next, or when _something_ might happen. 

So he thought maybe Steve had some hot and heavy kissing goodbye in mind when Steve shut the door behind him. His heart was already racing in anticipation. He pulled Steve close and leaned down.

Steve laughed. "No, wait." He kissed Sam, just a little peck. "I mean yes, that, but first, I have something for you."

"What is it?" He let Steve go, and Steve went to the tiny closet of his room.

"Well, I'm not sure if it will fit, but I got Billy to go based on your old uniform sizes..." He pulled a dark blue uniform out of the closet. Sam didn't have to look close to figure out what it was—the color was instantly recognizable even before he saw the silver star and stripes on the front of it.

"Steve."

"The armor is the same quality that mine was. I tried to get them to make it stronger, since you know, you don't have the serum but—"

"I can't wear that."

"You can," Steve said, "and you will." He held it out to Sam. "I can't be Captain America right now, but these guys—they need a Captain America. What's left of SHIELD needs a Captain America. And I'm sorry Sam, but you're the best candidate I can think of."

Sam tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "Steve, man. I'm not a superhero. I'm not like you."

"You are a hero, though," Steve said, and laid the uniform across his bed. He came over and grabbed Sam by the shirt and pulled him down, giving him a long, thorough kiss. "And I think you're pretty super."

Sam wrapped his arms around Steve, leaning down and resting his chin on Steve's shoulder. 

"You gotta find him, Sam," Steve murmured. "Not just for me. He's alone out there, and I don't know if he's lost or confused, or if he knows who he is. Worse, I don't know if he's dangerous or in danger. Bring him back. We'll figure everything out from there."

Sam kissed him on the top of the head, feeling the brush of silky fine hair against his lips. "This is only temporary," he said. "As soon as Jemma figures this thing out, I wanna go back to being Captain America's buddy."

Steve grinned up at him, eyes twinkling. "Just his buddy, huh? Boy, talk about some mixed signals."

Sam grinned. "Well, you know. You're really hot _now_. I don't know if I want to deal with a man who's that much stronger than I am. Could be dangerous."

"Yeah, but you like danger," Steve murmured, his long eyelashes dipping against his cheeks. He looked up at Sam through them and Sam's heart skipped a beat. 

It took him a second to find his voice, and when he did, it was huskier than normal. "Yeah. That's true."

Steve came close and put his arms around Sam's waist, still looking up at him that same coy expression. "Do you really think I'm hot, or are you just saying that?"

Sam curled his fingers around the base of Steve's skull, twisting his fingers a little in the hair at the back of his neck and bent down for a hard kiss. He pushed his way into Steve's mouth and walked him back to the nearest wall, finally, _finally_ pressing the full length of his body against Steve's. Steve squirmed against him with a muffled whimper, his arms going tight around Sam's waist. Sam kissed a line along Steve's narrow jaw, and used the hand on Steve's neck to tilt his head enough that Sam could continue kissing before moving back up to Steve's ear. "What am I saying now?" He was pressed tight enough against Steve that there was no way Steve could miss the growing erection against his belly.

"I'm not sure," Steve sounded breathless, but it wasn't the wheezing sound of an asthma attack. "Maybe you better say it again. A little louder this time."

Sam laughed and nuzzled his ear. "You know Trip and May are waiting for me."

Steve sighed. "Yeah, you're right." He nudged Sam until he moved, then looked up at him with a laugh. "Terrible, terrible timing, both of us."

"We'll get it figured out," Sam said. "Now, do I need help getting into this supersuit of yours, or am I on my own?"

"I think you'd better do it yourself," Steve said with a wry grin. "Otherwise, Trip and May might be waiting for a while." He reached up on tiptoes to kiss Sam on the cheek. "The rest of the gear and the shield are still in the closet, along with the helmet. I'll wait outside. Come get me if you need help."

Sam got dressed, feeling more like he was playing dress-up than putting on a uniform. The fit was about perfect, heavier than the uniforms he was used to, but not any heavier than the wingpack he once carried. _Captain America with wings, wouldn't that be something?_ He grinned, barely keeping a slightly hysterical giggle in check. It was surreal, looking in the mirror and seeing Captain America looking back at him. He put on the helmet, and the illusion intensified. Steve wasn't wrong. Captain America was a powerful symbol, even now. Him wearing this uniform, it didn't have anything to do with Sam Wilson at all. 

Steve knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I'm decent."

"You're more than that, Sam," Steve said, opening the door, "you're—" He stopped, seeing Sam, and smiled.

"If you're gonna laugh at me, I swear to god—"

"No. Not at all. It suits you." Steve came forward and made a few adjustments, tugging things into place, tightening one of the straps, and just like that, the fit was perfect. He ducked into the closet and came out carrying the red, white, and blue shield. He all but vanished behind it now. "You ever tried to use one of these?"

Sam laughed. "Not really. The Air Force never offered any sword and shield training."

"Well look, just don't get fancy, and you'll be fine," Steve said. He took Sam's arm and showed him how to use the grips. "You know, just—stay behind it. That's the point."

Sam looked in the mirror again.

"Kinda weird, isn't it?" Steve said. "Took me some getting used to too."

"Yeah," Sam breathed. "Just temporary though. For now."

"For now," Steve agreed. "Come on, Captain. Let's go meet your team."


End file.
